Hannah in the Night On a starlit night in late November we walk slanting our bodies against the wind, choosing our careful way between glittering snowdrifts, to see a neighbor’s horse. We enter a forest of slender pines, unlock the gate, and stand waiting, watching our breath crystallize in the air. Hannah! She comes galloping at the sound of her name, ears pricked, tail flagged, appearing dapple gray and wraith-like from the dark trees. Yet her muzzle is warm and her whiskers tickle my palm as I feed her carrots and apple pieces. When her mistress calls she follows her, halterless to her one-stall barn and I think that like most horses she will give herself over to the pleasures of grain. But as we turn towards the gate I hear her hooves beating the frozen ground, and she materializes once more, a smoking vapour of night air. Suddenly she rounds the bend and I feel her bulk and power as she almost runs me down, then turns at the last instant to stand beside me, stamp her hoof and neigh, as though it is her great joy to greet us in the darkness.